PETALS ON THE WATER

## Chapter 1 — Petals on the Water

The first rose petal landed in the pool like a drop of blood.

Emma Whitmore watched it float across the turquoise water, turning slowly under the late afternoon sun. The gardeners had scattered hundreds of them for Vanessa’s engagement luncheon, red and blush and ivory, until the surface looked soft enough to touch.

It wasn’t.

Emma knew that because she had dipped one bare foot in ten minutes earlier and pulled it back, laughing at the cold.

Now she stood at the edge of the pool in a pale yellow dress her father had said made her look like spring. Her sandals had tiny pearls sewn across the straps. One of them had rubbed a blister into her heel, but she hadn’t complained.

Vanessa hated complaints.

Inside the house, behind the wall of glass doors, Christopher Whitmore stood in his study with his phone pressed to one ear. Emma could see only part of him through the reflection: white shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie loosened, one hand braced against the desk.

He had been on that call too long.

Emma could tell by the way he kept pinching the bridge of his nose.

Business calls made him disappear without leaving the room. He would look at her afterward and smile, and she would smile back, and neither of them would say that the house felt bigger when he was distracted.

Vanessa stood near the champagne table, checking her reflection in the silver tray.

She wore red.

Not bright red. A darker, silkier red that made the staff look down when she passed. Her engagement ring flashed every time she moved her hand, catching sunlight like it had been trained to do it.

“Emma,” Vanessa said without turning. “Don’t stand so close to the water.”

Emma stepped back one inch.

Vanessa saw it in the reflection anyway.

“Farther.”

Emma moved again.

A server carried a tray of untouched crab cakes past them. Somewhere near the hedges, women laughed in the soft, careful way grown-ups laughed when they wanted to be overheard.

The party was almost over.

That was the only reason Emma had dared ask.

“Vanessa?”

Vanessa adjusted one diamond earring.

“What?”

Emma twisted her fingers together.

“When you marry Dad, will you always live here?”

Vanessa’s hand stopped at her ear.

Emma wished she hadn’t asked.

The silence came first. Not loud, not dramatic. Just the click of the pool filter, the distant clink of a glass, and Vanessa’s face going still in the silver tray.

Then Vanessa turned.

“Why?”

Emma looked toward the glass doors. Her father was still on the phone, his back half-turned.

“I just wondered.”

“You just wondered.”

Emma swallowed.

“Because this was Mom’s house too.”

The words were not sharp.

That made Vanessa angrier.

She walked toward Emma slowly, heels clicking against the pale marble patio. Rose petals had been crushed near the chaise lounges, leaving red smears where guests had stepped on them.

“Your mother is dead,” Vanessa said.

Emma looked down.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Vanessa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Emma’s fingers found the little gold bracelet on her wrist. It had belonged to Sarah, her mother. It was too big, so Christopher had a jeweler add a safety chain, but Emma still checked it constantly.

“I only meant—”

“You only meant to remind me that everything in this house is somehow still hers.”

Emma looked up.

“No.”

“Yes.” Vanessa stepped closer. “The portrait in the hall. The garden she designed. The trust everyone whispers about as if an eleven-year-old child needs a fortune more than I need a future.”

Emma blinked.

The trust.

Her grandmother had mentioned it three days earlier at breakfast, then stopped talking when Vanessa walked into the room.

“I didn’t say anything about that.”

Vanessa’s eyes sharpened.

“But you listen, don’t you?”

Emma took one step back.

Her heel touched the pool’s wet edge.

Vanessa saw.

Something changed in her face. Not planning exactly. Not even thought. Just a flash of something that had been waiting too close to the surface.

Inside, Christopher turned away from his desk.

His call ended.

Emma opened her mouth to call him.

Vanessa grabbed her arm.

The fingers were cold.

“Stay where you belong,” Vanessa hissed. “This house will never be yours.”

Emma gasped.

Then Vanessa shoved her.

The world tipped.

Cold swallowed her whole.

Chlorine flooded her nose. Her dress ballooned around her legs, dragging heavy and strange. Above her, rose petals scattered across the surface, red shadows trembling in the sunlight.

She kicked once.

Her sandal slipped off.

Voices broke open above the water.

Emma tried to scream, but the pool filled her mouth.

Through the blur she saw Christopher burst through the glass doors so hard one side slammed against the stone wall.

“Emma!”

He ran.

His shoes hit the marble, then water exploded around her as he dove in fully clothed.

Hands found her under the arms.

Strong. Shaking.

Her father pulled her up into air.

Emma coughed so hard her ribs hurt. Her fingers clawed into his wet shirt. He carried her to the steps, water streaming from his sleeves, his tie dark against his chest.

Vanessa stood frozen beside the pool.

Her mouth was open.

Not with regret.

With calculation interrupted.

Christopher climbed from the water with Emma pressed against him. His hand was still shaking when he reached blindly for the towel a housekeeper thrust toward him.

Security came running from the side path.

Vanessa lifted both hands.

“She slipped.”

The towel fell from Christopher’s shoulder.

He looked at her.

For one second, the patio held its breath.

Then he stepped forward and slapped Vanessa across the face.